


maybe you're my snowflake

by crucios



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 15:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucios/pseuds/crucios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anyway, the point is: he and Louis aren't really that close, drunken kiss or not. </p><p>But Liam’s a bit desperate right now and he doesn’t really think anyone else is going to help him; so he says hurriedly and all in one breath: “Hi. I need you to be my knight in shining armour, because if you don’t help me I will end up buried in my own mother’s back garden. <i>By my own mother</i>.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	maybe you're my snowflake

**Author's Note:**

> this is for alyson, who is one of my very favourite people in the world. she gave me this prompt a while ago and finally i seem to have finished it. i’m sorry, darling, it maybe developed a life of its own. /o\
> 
> anyway. so, i realise it is now january, and christmas has been and gone, but as usual i wrote a lot more than i meant to (i don't understand how it got over 10k) and it got a bit out of hand. so let’s just close our eyes and pretend it’s still christmas for today. january’s a horrible bastard anyway, think of it as a cheer-up fic! also i haven't written 1D in a little while - i'm dipping my toes back in (by that i mean falling back in head first) - so hopefully it's not too terrible.
> 
> also, all of the thanks in the world for beta/editing assistance and general encouragement to the ever lovely and amazing melaney, without whom i definitely would not have posted this at all.
> 
> (i didn’t have a title for this until yesterday. until then it was just titled: "this is utterly ridiculous" and it really is!)

~*~ 

“Aren’t you supposed to be finished?” Niall asks, voice muffled from somewhere behind the colossal Starbucks coffee machine. Liam can just about see his artfully stuck-up hair. 

Liam nods, not stopping his cleaning—it’s sort of a half-arsed cleaning job, if he’s honest, but it’s cleaning none-the-less. It’ll do, he’s bloody knackered. “Yeah, about an hour ago.” 

Niall pops his head up far enough so Liam can see him rolling his eyes. He throws a tea-towel with Christmas trees on it at Liam’s head and makes a lot of irritated sort of sounds—Liam thinks he’s probably cussing at him under his breath. It’s how Niall shows he _cares_. 

“Get out, Payno. Go home. Eat, drink, be merry! It’s fucking Christmas,” Niall demands finally, around a mouthful of slightly-stale gingerbread that their Arsehole Boss had given them. Liam had some of it earlier; it was a bit like eating cardboard. Cardboard with a slight hint of off-ness and a pinch of ginger. 

Starbucks are horribly stingy, Liam thinks a bit indignantly; he probably needs to quit and get a job at, like, one of those cute and cosy family-run coffee shops that are decorated with delightful little shabby-chic tables and patchwork bunting and stuff. Or something like that anyway. He’s sure those shops must exist outside of television and shoddy romance novels (not that Liam reads those, or anything), somewhere. He reckons _they’d_ send him home with a nice tub of homemade Christmas biscuits—maybe cupcakes even. 

It’s Christmas bloody Eve. 

Liam throws the towel back at Niall; it spins across the room and just manages to miss his head by a few inches. 

“Alright,” Liam agrees; he huffs out a tired breath and lets his hand holding the damp cloth – which he had been rather terribly cleaning the faux-snow frosted windows with – fall uselessly to his side. 

He’s not really going to bother arguing with Niall about it—there’s very little point. Mostly because Niall will win, or maybe just forcibly  _drag him out of Starbucks_  and plant him down remorselessly on the street, pushing him in the vague direction of home. But also a lot because Liam doesn’t seem to have enough energy to rub two fucking brain cells together and form a proper sentence. At least not one that is coherent and not entirely nonsense. 

Besides, he only stayed to help Niall out, and if Niall doesn’t need him there, perfect. 

“Make me an espresso before I go, please?” he pleads miserably, tossing the cloth onto the counter next to Niall. “I have horrible last-minute shopping to do.” 

Niall makes a sound around another mouthful of the gross stale-gingerbread that Liam takes as an agreement, and also maybe a little bit despair. 

Liam sighs a bit dramatically and pulls a chair off of one of the cleaned-up tables so he can fall onto it and put his head in his hands. His life is really quite terrible; he’s so _tired_. 

“You’re fucking useless, Liam,” Niall tells him matter-of-factly, fiddling with the coffee machine. His voice sounds fairly normal now so he must have swallowed the horrible off-gingerbread. Rather him than Liam, Liam supposes. “You said you were going to be fucking _quote_ organised and stuff _un-quote_ this year.” 

Liam frowns. He probably did say that—but he supposes he didn’t know then that his mum was going to lose her job – through no fault of her own – and he’d be picking up any and every shift humanly and physically possible to work without, like, keeling over and _dying on the floor_ surrounded by broken mugs of coffee. Which was quite easy, really—the picking up shifts. People will do just about anything to get out of working the run-up to Christmas. The fallout of it, too. Liam kind of understands why now, it’s been a complete nightmare so far. 

He covers his hands with his dusty-blue jumper sleeves against the chill – the heating must have gone off for closing – and mumbles a bit miserably: “Life sort of happened.” 

Niall reappears from behind the counter and gives him a pointed _look_. He sets down the espresso and says, like he’s full of God’s own fucking wisdom: “Life’s always happening.” 

“You sound like Zayn. You’re really unhelpful, you know that?” Liam snaps lazily, narrowing his eyes. Niall just shrugs and sits down next to him, mug of his own in hand—a chai tea latte, Liam can smell it. Apparently the cleaning can wait; Liam doesn’t blame him. 

“I’m not trying to be helpful,” Niall says bluntly, rolling his eyes, and then: “Tommo’s Trinkets across the road is still open.” He nods his head in the direction of the frosted street outside—it’s snowing quite a bit, Liam notices. Wonderful. 

Liam squints, and he can just about make out the lit-up shop window through the sheets of feathery snow and the foggy glass of their own window. 

Niall elbows him gently. “Louis might be there,” he pushes, a little twinkle in his eye that Liam completely does not like at all. “He closes up sometimes.” 

“I don’t have a crush on Louis Tomlinson,” Liam presses, annoyed. They have this conversation – argument? – at least every other day. 

Niall purses his lips like he’s trying not to laugh at him and gives Liam a bit of a dubious look. Stupid bloody Niall, Liam thinks. “I didn’t mention anything about a crush, Payno, you said that all by your little self.” 

“Because _I don’t have one_ ,” he argues petulantly. He lets out an exasperated sigh and gulps down his espresso in one—pretends it’s something stronger. 

“You’ve always been a really shit liar, Liam,” Niall laughs. He ruffles Liam’s hair and then stands up, picking up the empty coffee cups. 

“It’s Christmas! Go to Trinkets,” Niall demands cheerfully, “or I’ll drag you there by your fucking ears, mate. I’m tired of you gazing out of the fucking window.” 

Liam glares at him. “I hate you,” he retorts. But he doesn’t really mean it. 

~*~ 

Once he’s waved Niall off and they’ve exchanged approximately five or so Merry Christmases and a few spirited hugs, Liam shuts the shop door and shrinks deeper into his scarf to cross the gusty road. The snow is starting to lie quite a bit now—Liam hopelessly looks down at his scuffed up work trainers; he’s definitely not wearing the right kind of shoes for this fucking Arctic weather. 

He stops in the mid-winter chill outside of Tommo’s Trinkets and mentally reads through the Last-Minute List he’d hastily scrawled across his brain on his lunch break today. There’s candles and other stuff for his mum—the other stuff he’s not quite figured out yet. There’s a Baby’s First Photo Album for Ruth; she unexpectedly announced her pregnancy over tea and Custard Cream biscuits about two weeks ago. Liam’s been so bloody snowed-under – sometimes literally, the snow-storms this year have been utterly ridiculous – with work, he’s hardly had a chance to even digest that information yet—his big sister is having a  _baby_. 

Liam shrugs that thought away rather swiftly though, and goes back to his list; now probably isn’t the right sort of time to let it sink in that he’s going to be _Uncle Liam_  in about five months. 

He still doesn’t have anything at all of use on the Last-Minute List for Nicola. She’s downright bloody awful to buy for—she’s one of those people who will tell you she doesn’t mind what you get her, _it’s the thought that counts_. Then she glares grudgingly at you for about three hours after opening your present on Christmas Day. This happened to Liam last year; he had bought her a glitter lamp. 

Honestly, Liam doesn’t understand what’s so wrong about a  _glitter lamp_. They’re retro. 

He peers into the dimly-lit shop window and glimpses at one of the bizarre jewellery displays. He can probably get her some sort of obscure, vintage jewellery. She likes those sort of things, he thinks. And if she doesn’t, well. It’s a quirky gift, whatever. She can like it or fucking lump it. Liam’ll just get her some bloody coal next year. 

Liam’s still busy scrutinising the numerous window displays when the shop-door swings open with the jingle of a bell and a nice blast of warm air. He startles a bit at Louis standing in the doorway—though he’s not too sure why, he wasn’t really expecting anyone else. He knows Louis' doing the late shift today because he happened to notice a little earlier, when he was terribly cleaning the shop windows. He wasn't looking on purpose, he was just _cleaning_. 

Louis’ hair is sort of all over the place in a tousled intentional kind of way, and he’s wearing a jumper with Darth Vader in a Santa hat on it and the words “You underestimate the power of Christmas” embroidered across it. It’s disgustingly charming. 

Alright, so maybe Niall’s not completely wrong about the crush thing. Maybe not even a little bit wrong, really. But Liam will never hear the end of it if he tells him that. 

Louis hovers by the door and smiles at Liam a bit expectantly, arms crossed over his chest against the icy wind. “Hi, Liam,” he says curiously, and then: “I’m closing up. Are you alright?” 

Liam doesn’t really know Louis, is the thing. Or, well, no: Liam doesn’t really know Louis that  _well_. They share some of the same friends and they frequent the same parties, and they work on the same street, too, so it’s not like they don’t, like, _mingle_ or whatever. They mingle a lot, he supposes. 

Louis often comes across to Starbucks on his work breaks, and sometimes they have coffee – tea for Louis,  _milk but no sugar_  – and inane little conversations about football, or music. General stuff. They kissed once, too, even—not in Starbucks though, that would have been terrible; it was at a house party of Zayn and Niall’s, he’s pretty sure. It was probably something to do with Drunk Truth or Dare—Niall _loves_ Drunk Truth or Dare. Liam honestly doesn’t remember the specifics of how it happened but he doesn’t often remember much of Zayn and Niall’s house parties. But Louis is pretty good friends with Zayn so he figures it must have been there, at least. 

Liam does remember Louis kissing him, though—in a sort of floaty out-of-body-experience way. The way you remember bits of a night the morning after and it feels like you’re remembering someone else’s night; like you're just hovering above the scene. They’d all had a lot of shots, but he thinks it was a nice kiss. 

Alright, it was a really nice kiss—sometimes he can still remember the press of Louis’ fingers against the back of his neck and how warm and soft his mouth was. 

But anyway, the point is: he and Louis aren't really that close, drunken kiss or not. 

But Liam’s a bit desperate right now and he doesn’t really think anyone else is going to help him; so he says hurriedly and all in one breath: “Hi. I need you to be my knight in shining armour, because if you don’t help me I will end up buried in my own mother’s back garden.  _By my own mother_.” 

Louis blinks slowly at him and cocks his head like he's trying to process and make sense of the request, and then raises a rather amused eyebrow. “Well, that sounds very serious,” he says finally, hint of a smile stretching across his lips. He looks soft and warm, and Liam sort of wants to hug him a little bit. For the warmth, obviously. 

Liam huffs out a breath. “It _is_ serious,” he tells Louis miserably. “It’s a crisis.” 

Louis grins with delight and apparently - _thankfully_ \- takes some kind of pity on him; Liam must look utterly tragic. He ushers Liam into the shop with a warm hand on his shoulder, and with the other he slams the door shut against the awful Arctic conditions with a jingle behind them. Liam glances back outside; he had barely noticed he  _was_  still outside—he thinks that might be a testament to how very exhausted and jumbled he is these days, because the snow is falling thicker now – fluffy giant snowflakes – in a horrible blizzard-like way. 

Either that, or it’s a testament to how distracting Louis is. But that’s neither here nor there, Liam thinks. 

Louis flicks on the main shop lights to illuminate all of the little bits and bobs – trinkets, Liam thinks stupidly – scattered about on various haphazard displays. Liam forgets sometimes how wonderful this little shop is, it’s a bit like a pirate’s treasure hold—or the Cave of Wonders. He tells Louis so, too; he goes for pirate’s treasure hold though. He remembers Louis telling him that his favourite Disney film is Peter Pan, once, so he thinks he might appreciate the pirates. It’s amazing what’s in the recesses of his mind. 

Louis looks sort of pleased. “I know, right? Wish I could take the credit,” he says. His eyes follow Liam’s sweeping gaze over the shop. “But it’s all mum’s work.” 

“Jay.” Liam nods; Jay frequents Starbucks too. “Grande caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso.” 

Louis lets out a surprised laugh. “That’s… scarily impressive, mate.” 

Liam shrugs. “I have some talents,” he says, and then a bit awkwardly: “so, about the saving my life thing?” 

Louis studies him for a moment, blue eyes real-life sparkling with the reflection of the white-and-blue Christmas lights hanging around the shop-window. 

“I don’t know, Liam Payne,” he says finally, an air of dramatics to his voice. “I’m not sure if I can handle all of this heavy responsibility you’re laying upon me.” 

Liam pouts and reaches out without thinking; he holds onto the hem of Louis’ ludicrous Star Wars jumper, and tugs at it a bit. 

“Help me Louis Tomlinson, you’re my only hope,” he tries. He quite ridiculously widens his eyes, too—he’s been told he has quite effective Puppy Dog Eyes more than once. Well, alright, just twice. Once by his mum and the other by Zayn. But he may as well give them a whirl. 

Liam vaguely realises that he's probably making a bit of fool out of himself in front of the boy he sort of wants to kiss sometimes. He'd maybe make the time to feel absolutely embarrassed about it and express a little bit of regret for bothering Louis so terribly late on Christmas Eve and stuff, but he doesn't actually have any time. Louis Tomlinson really is his only hope. 

He can feel his cheeks flush pink, though, when the words have left his mouth. 

Louis lets out a high-pitched laugh. It’s sort of cute. “Okay, alright,” he commends, holding up his hands, “strong reference drop. Five points to… what’s your Hogwarts house?” 

“Um—” 

“I’m gonna call Gryffindor. Five points to Gryffindor,” interrupts Louis definitively with a curt nod. “But I get fifty points for helping you, so. Your house is still a lot shit.” 

Liam rolls his eyes. “Slytherin, then,” he guesses. 

Well, he sort of knows, because Louis came in on his lunch-break a couple of months ago wearing a scarf adorned with the Slytherin crest. Not that Liam really takes note of what Louis’ wearing or anything like that. He’s observant, is all. 

“Always.” Louis nods proudly—Liam almost half expects Louis to whip out a Slytherin tattoo next, or something. 

He doesn't. 

“Alright then,  _Malfoy_ ,” Liam quips quietly. “Where do you keep candles?” 

Louis narrows his eyes in amusement. “Malfoy? This isn’t quite the roleplay I expected from you, Liam Payne.” 

Liam blinks slowly, not entirely sure what on Earth he can say to that; he’s not really equipped to deal with _Louis Tomlinson who kissed him a lot that one time_ joking completely casually about roleplay with him. He laughs, instead—there’s a bit of an odd shake to it that he tries not to make too noticeable. 

He’s about to say something either incredibly witty or incredibly stupid - more likely the latter, no doubt - in retort, when without a word Louis brings up his hands and rests them gently over the curve of Liam’s shoulders. His hands feel warm and firm and just—well, really quite wonderful. 

Liam sucks in a breath and doesn’t move. Louis looks at him for a moment as if searching for something and then he turns Liam around in his hands and pushes him carefully over to a shadowy corner of the shop, stocked quite incredibly – and probably Very Unsafely, this is a health and safety hazard waiting to happen – with a lot of various-sized candles. 

“There,” Louis points out helpfully. Liam can feel his breath tickling at his neck. 

Louis’ hands linger on Liam’s shoulders for a little bit longer than they probably need to, and then flutter softly down his back and away. Liam tries his very best not to notice.

He coughs awkwardly and says: "Ah. Thanks," trying to stop his voice from being weird and possibly quite tell-tale. Honestly, having a crush on Louis Tomlinson is a bit horrible. Somehow he forgets how to act like a normal non-weird human being. 

Liam doesn’t even know when any of this started; he knows he wanted to kiss Louis even before they properly did kiss, but not really how much longer before. It might have been quite a while, when he thinks about it—he’s probably wanted to kiss Louis from the first time he met him. Louis’… sort of incredible. At some point, though, Liam had to carefully make himself forget about it all—after seeing Louis holding hands and smiling slightly adoringly at Harry from the bakery around the corner. 

Eventually though, he found out from Zayn there was nothing going on with Louis and Harry and that they're just the sort of friends who hold hands a lot, like him and Danielle probably, and it all came back a bit full force. 

There was the whole kiss thing, too—the kiss wasn’t particularly a special kiss, or anything. Or at least it wasn’t supposed to be. It definitely wasn’t supposed to make Liam feel things; it was just a bit of fun for a very drunken game. Emphasis on the _very_. But it lasted just that little bit too long, and they held onto each other just that little bit too tight. In fact, Liam’s quite sure he can remember Zayn sniggering and telling them that they didn’t actually have to _keep kissing_ : “You can probably stop now,” or something along those lines. 

They never talked about it. Him and Louis. Liam’s not completely convinced Louis even remembers it. It’s all been a bit hit and miss with them. 

Except now he’s here, in Louis’ shop, late on Christmas Eve, and Louis is leaning in just this side of _too-close_ to Liam. He holds onto Liam’s arm or rests his hand softly on Liam’s back, like it’s all very familiar and normal. 

Liam is horribly hyper-aware of Louis hovering behind him and pointing out various Christmas gift ideas for Liam’s family, which… well, that’s a bit personal, isn’t it? Or maybe it’s just his _job_ , Liam thinks dumbly. He's over-thinking this. But he can hear every breath and feel every little bloody touch—accidental or not, and it feels altogether far too hot in the shop all of a sudden. Maybe the heating's just on too high? 

Louis doesn't seem fazed at all and drags him all over the shop and back, babbling erratically about all of his little sisters and how much of a nightmare Christmas shopping is with so many little girls to buy for, “It’s impossible to buy them all different things, because they just end up fucking wanting what one of the others has. Christmas is like World War III,” he complains dramatically—Liam’s suddenly glad he only has two sisters and both are older. Amongst the babbling, though, Louis does manage to help Liam pick a lovely candle and incense set out for his mum that he’s sure she’ll definitely be pleased with. Liam chooses a handmade photo album with little ducks all over the cover, and a relaxing bath set for Ruth, and for Nicola Louis insists he buy a Celtic knot jewellery set, which is excellent: if Nicola doesn’t like it Liam can just blame Louis. 

But that’s okay, because Louis won’t be there and have to suffer through _three hours of glaring_. 

When they’re all done, Louis beams at him. “You can vote for me as employee of the year on our website,” he says, while meticulously wrapping all of the gifts individually in gold tissue paper. Liam stares at his hands a little bit. 

“What’s your website?” Liam asks after a moment. He pulls out his wallet to count out the notes for something to focus on, but he doesn’t miss the way Louis’ face lights up. 

“I’m just messing. We don’t have an employee of the month; it wouldn’t be fair, I’d just keep winning it.” 

Liam laughs and hands over the notes. “Well, I’d vote for you.” 

Louis’ eyes twinkle a little bit, he counts out Liam’s change and asks: “Are you going to Zayn and Niall’s New Year party, Liam Payne?” 

“I—yeah, I guess,” he says. He hadn’t really given New Year much thought, but he supposes he is. Zayn probably wouldn’t let him get out of it even if Liam wanted to. He and Niall would probably find some horrible way to blackmail him. 

“You should,” Louis tells him, handing the change over. “Haven’t seen you out much since their last party.” 

Liam coughs and feels a bit scattered all of a sudden. Right. That party. “Yeah… Yeah I’ll see what I can do.” He smiles and takes the change, telling him awkwardly: “Thanks, mate. For being my knight in shining armour and stuff.” 

Louis nods, a fluttery look in his eyes that Liam really can’t figure out. “Anytime,” he replies softly. 

Liam stares for a second longer than he means to—he's beginning to notice that this is becoming a problem. Maybe even a problem with a capital P sort of problem, and those are the worst ones. Tom Hardy is a problem with a capital P problem, which sort of says it all really.

“Right, yeah,” he manages. He belatedly realises he’s still holding onto Louis’ hand and that the change is clasped uncomfortably between them. He tries not to react. “Have a nice Christmas, yeah?” 

Liam does his best to smile kindly rather than the sort of gawk-ish look he’s afraid might have been on his face, and pulls his hand back – nice and casually – from beneath Louis’. Except apparently Louis has a completely different idea about the entire situation, and is also quite _uncannily fast_. He reaches out and catches Liam's wrist in the circle of his fingers, just holding it there. 

Liam startles a bit and the change goes flying across the counter with a clang. 

He watches blankly as a ten pence piece spins and then falls to the floor. Louis pays it no attention, though; he softens his hold on Liam's wrist and goes back to holding his hand. Like that’s… something that they do. Liam doesn’t remember this ever being something that they do. 

He tries to think about how Louis holds hands with that Harry lad all of the time, and like. Maybe he just likes holding people's hands. Some people do, probably. Maybe there's nothing else to it. 

“Louis—” he tries, glancing from their clasped hands to Louis’ sparkling eyes—they looks like stars. 

Louis clears his throat. “If I’m your knight in shining armour… I’m allowed to kiss you, right?” he asks coolly. 

Liam’s stomach somersaults a bit ridiculously. “I...” he starts. Hang on, _what_? 

He quite feels rather awfully light-headed and his fingers feel altogether numb in Louis’ hand. Louis smiles at him oddly, eyes still searching. Liam can see a dash of anxiety hiding in the corners of Louis’ smile – like Louis' worried he's gone and said the completely wrong thing – and he can’t help but lean forward a little bit. 

Alright, so maybe there is something else to it. 

“Yeah. I… I guess you are,” Liam finishes finally, not entirely sure what on Earth he’s bloody _doing_. 

But Louis’ already reaching across the counter before Liam’s finished the whole sentence. He curls a hand around the back of Liam’s neck and his fingertips feel just as warm and confident on his skin as Liam remembers them. For a second Louis just breathes, then he grins a little and stretches forward across the counter to slide his lips over Liam’s. 

It’s soft and slow and Liam sort of wants more, but the angle’s slightly awkward and the counter is digging into him a lot. 

“Louis,” he exhales against Louis’ lips, a bit - embarrassingly - high-pitched. He's about to say something about the horrible angle and how they should really fix that and then maybe go back to doing the kissing thing, but before he manages to get the words out they’re sort of…  _plunged into darkness_. 

Liam blinks a few times and – slightly panicked – wonders if he’s blacked out. Oh _God_ , he hopes he hasn't blacked out, that would be completely embarrassing. He’d never be able to look Louis in the face again. Ever. But he feels okay, he thinks. Definitely conscious, anyway. It’s a liquid sort of darkness, like being at the bottom of the sea. He imagines, anyway—he’s definitely having great difficulty breathing like he’s at the bottom of the sea. 

“Shit,” Louis curses after a beat; he must still be close because Liam can feel his breath against his mouth. Thank god. 

“I’m definitely not the only one who can’t see anything right now, am I?” Liam asks. Just in case he's suffering from some sort of hysterical blindness—it’s a real thing that can happen, he saw it on telly once. 

Well, it’s never happened to him but there’s a first time for everything and all that. 

Louis huffs out a small laugh; he sounds a bit endeared. Liam’s slightly glad he can’t see the flush that is probably reddening his cheeks; he’s going to make it his New Year’s Resolution to think before he fucking speaks. 

“Power-cut,” Louis supplies, and then half-laughs and half-complains: “Of all the fucking times.” 

Liam’s not wholly sure whether Louis is actually talking to him or just to himself—or just the Universe in general, maybe. But he agrees all the same; the timing could have undoubtedly been somewhat better. Thanks for absolutely nothing, Universe. 

“It’ll be the snowstorm,” Louis tells him; Liam can feel Louis’ fingers still clasped tightly to his jacket sleeve. No doubt so he doesn't lose him in the pitch-dark. “I keep telling mum to move the bloody shop—the electrics in this street always get hit.” 

Liam squints hard in the darkness, trying to make his eyes adjust—he thinks he can just about make out the outline of Louis’ face now. He leans forward a little and rests his hands on the counter between them, and somehow – without realising – ends up bumping their heads together a bit _hard_. 

“ _Ow_ , fuck. Sorry,” he curses quickly, rubbing at his head. 

Louis lets out a giggle, and then another. And then he doesn’t stop, clinging tightly onto Liam’s jacket-sleeves and giggling helplessly into the space between them. Liam has to bite his lip. 

“This is really unfortunate,” Louis says eventually, once the giggles are bit less all over the place. 

Liam laughs, too. He’s not really sure what else to do. “We can’t just stand here until the power comes back. It might be out  _all night_.” 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever seen my shop before, but if we move we will completely bring down a tower of, like—turtle figures or something.” 

Liam doesn’t have to be able to see Louis’ expression to know he’s looking at him a bit like he’s telling him to  _switch yourself on, Liam_. 

Liam huffs. “It’s  _Christmas Eve_.” 

Louis nudges at him gently with his nose. “Yeah. Looks like we’re stuck with each other.” 

Liam takes in a shaky breath and shuffles his feet a bit, trying hard not to knock into anything. He quite seriously considers just _finding Louis’ lips and kissing them again_ , because if they end up stuck here for a while there’s not much else they can do, probably, and—well, alright, maybe this is all a bit odd and asides from a drunken kiss they have only ever shared a cup of tea and idle conversation with each other before five minutes ago. But Louis seems to have no problem at all with the spontaneous kissing thing, and Liam definitely doesn't. 

But then Louis says: “Hang on, is it or is it not the 21st Century?” 

Liam frowns. "Yes… Is this a trick question?" 

Louis jabs a finger into his arm and Liam flails back a little, not expecting it. "We have phones, Liam Payne." 

Liam blinks – _oh_ – and then has the decency to look a bit embarrassed that it didn’t occur to him. He’s _tired_ , alright. He’s worked about three-hundred and eighty hours in the last day. Louis is already switching on the torch of his phone and bouncing the light around the shop as Liam pulls his own out of his pocket. 

“Well, this isn’t how I expected to be spending Christmas Eve,” says Louis, shuffling around the counter a bit. Liam can see his face now; it’s glowing a sort of hazy-blue in the torchlight, and it makes his eyes sparkle unbearably more than they usually do, which is a _feat_. 

“Sorry,” Liam tells him a bit hopelessly, because it is sort of his fault. If he had have been organised like he had planned and not had to do _horrible last-minute shopping_ , Louis would have closed up shop and no doubt be comfortable and warm and cosy in the house with his family right now, drinking tea with milk and no sugar, or hot chocolate. Or maybe even Baileys. 

Louis tuts. “Shut up, Liam Payne,” he quips with a roll of his eyes. 

Liam frowns in response; he hadn’t really realised that Louis had shuffled quite so close, but apparently he has because the distance is so small he’s pretty sure he could probably _count_ Louis’ eyelashes. They're good eyelashes. 

Liam clears his throat quickly and asks: “Do you have candles?” because phone batteries will only last for so long, and also he needs some sort of distraction from Louis’ entire face. 

Louis gives him a look and nods across to the Very Unsafe tower of candles. 

“Right,” Liam mumbles stupidly. He'd forgot about those. 

Liam tells himself to _get a bloody grip, Liam_ and then manages to somehow manoeuvre across the shop floor with the torchlight of his phone, across to the hill of multi-coloured and multi-shaped candles in the corner. He balances around a bit unsteadily in the dark and tries to evade a stack of candle-holders in a hazardous pile on the floor – how do people get around this shop without breaking everything? – and leans to pick up a couple of the bigger candles. He doesn’t know if bigger means, like… brighter, but he fucking hopes so anyway. He fishes in his pocket for his lighter – it’s one of Zayn’s, really; Liam only smokes  _sometimes_  – and then lights them up and carefully sets them down the best he can in-between displays. He hovers his hand by them for just a moment, really hoping they won’t fall over and _set everything on fire_ or anything. That may marginally impact on his chances of ever kissing Louis again. 

Louis waits across the other side of the shop, holding up his own torchlight to sort of guide Liam about; his face is cast in shadows and his cheekbones look a bit like Liam could cut a block of cheese on them. Honestly, Liam’s not sure why he’s not still kissing him—they don’t need candles for that. 

Louis blinks, a strange expression on his face. Liam blinks too, realising he’s still kind of staring and thinks: _right, focus_ , and tears his gaze away quickly. He shuffles around a wicker basket of door knobs to light another candle and stagger carefully over to the shop-window to peer curiously outside. 

The entire street's out of power, by the looks of it—street lights included. It looks eerily like a set-up for a Zombie Apocalypse. But Liam tries not to think about that. He’s quite a rational thinker most of the time, but definitely not right now. 

The snow is still coming down in thick and heavy curtains against the darkened sky, the gale-force winds picking it up and flying it about in every direction, whipping it against the windows; the ground looks at least six inches deep in it now, too. Brilliant. Looks like neither of them are going bloody anywhere for a while. 

Liam turns around to Louis' questioning eyes. "I think we might be getting snowed in," he tells him weakly. 

Louis pouts ridiculously in the candlelight and says miserably: "This is horrible, we can't even have tea." 

\- 

Once Liam's lit enough candles for them to at least be able to see where on Earth they're going so they don't bring down a pile of vintage picture frames or nautical furniture or weird little ceramic cats, or something else equally obscure, Louis helps him light a few more and shows Liam into the stock room so they can light a few in there, too. 

The stock room is a bit smaller than the shop itself and is piled awfully high with all sorts of antique-looking objects; there’s a vintage settee and armchair set squashed into a corner, an incredibly bizarre group of lamps crowded onto a large carved table, and boxes upon boxes of God knows what. Liam tries not to touch any of them because he doesn't really need to add a three-hundred quid bill to this day. He feels like he should commend Louis' mother at some point though, on making use of such little space. 

Liam glances at the settee and wonders if he’s allowed to sit on it, or if actually it’s worth about three times his flat and he’s not at all worthy. In all of Liam’s dilly-dallying, though, Louis seem to have _already sat down_ , so Liam just sort of falls into it and pushes his fingers against his eye-lids, guessing it’s alright. At least it's a bit warmer in here, he thinks. Having retained at least some of its heat. Thank god. At some point in-between lighting candles Louis had realised that the heating was knackered too. Liam has visions of them having to warm their hands with nothing but a _lighter_ soon. He’d suggest burning some of the antique furniture for warmth if things get too desperate but honestly, he doesn’t think that would wash too well with Louis. 

This is like some sort of horrible, extreme-survival show. They're both going to die of, like, pneumonia or hypothermia, or end up having to eat each other, Liam thinks uselessly. It's also completely horrible that the Universe deemed it necessary to trap him with Louis in this sort of situation. Whatever Liam's done in a past life must truly be quite disturbing to deserve this. 

Louis nudges his shoulder against Liam’s and asks: “When do you think the storm’ll stop?” 

Liam racks his brains and tries to remember whether he took in anything the weatherman said on BBC News this morning, but he probably didn’t—he was too busy hopping around the flat with his trousers half on – one hand trying to pull them up and the other holding a cup of tea – trying to find his work shirt. “I dunno.” 

Louis huffs. “Don’t suppose you want to sing some Christmas carols? Play festive I-Spy?” 

Liam’s about to tell him that he’s not entirely sure what festive I-Spy entails and that he might need the rules explained to him first, when Louis says: “Sod it,” and quite out of nowhere he has his fingers pressed into the back of Liam's neck and he’s _kissing_ him. It’s a bit soft and chaste, like he’s not really sure he should have done it. 

“Sorry,” Louis says quietly when he pulls back, though he doesn’t look all that sorry. 

Liam tries to say something, maybe something like, “It’s alright, mate,” or, “Is that how you play festive I-Spy, then?” to combat the thick atmosphere, but he doesn’t manage to get any of the words out. He takes in a breath instead and maybe flicks his eyes down to Louis’ lips and—he thinks he should probably shuffle backwards a little bit before this gets really out of hand – they have to focus on _surviving_ – but he can’t seem to do it. He sees the kiss coming before Louis even leans forward again. 

Liam meets his lips somewhere vaguely in the middle; he bundles his hands into Louis’ chest and twists his fingers a little bit into his absolutely ridiculous jumper and pulls him closer. Louis’ mouth is soft and slick and Liam really wants to do this forever—run his tongue over Louis’ lips and keep kissing him until they can’t breathe. 

Louis presses his thumbs into Liam’s cheeks; they’re Baltic-cold to the touch but Liam still feels a bit like his face is burning up. Louis keeps it slow and Liam lets him—slow and drawn-out and little bit unbearable in all of the good ways. Liam groans a little bit, licking deeper into Louis’ mouth – he wants to be closer – and he can feel Louis hum a little laugh against his lips. It’s sort of _really wonderful_. 

This is much better that festive I-Spy, Liam thinks. Well, probably, since he's still very unclear on the rules, but he's willing to bet on it. 

Louis pulls away a little breathlessly for a moment, maybe so they _can_ breathe—Liam had sort of forgot that’s a thing that actually keeps people alive. Louis doesn’t let him move away too far, though; Liam can feel his breath in short puffs on his lips and they stay like that for a moment, just breathing. He catches Louis licking over his lips in the dull candlelight and he has to stop himself from reaching up and running his fingertips over them. Putting his fingers in Louis’ mouth. Jesus. 

“God,” Louis breathes eventually with a little puffy laugh, “I’ve wanted to do that again so many fucking times.” 

Liam quirks a surprised eyebrow. He doesn’t know what he was expecting Louis to say, but it probably wasn’t that. “Really?” 

Louis blinks up at him, expression a bit serious. He’s still holding Liam in place with his hands, thumb still pressed into his cheek and fingers still tangled in his hair. Liam hasn’t really had time to get his hair cut lately but he’s sort of glad for it now; he likes the way Louis twists his hands up in it and pulls a little bit. 

Liam doesn’t really want to move. Like, ever again. Fuck Christmas. 

“Really,” Louis confirms, and then kisses him again—just a soft press of lips. "Had to physically stop myself in Starbucks, once. Your boss was looking at me weirdly." 

“Wait,” Liam says, frowning. He grabs Louis’ hands from his own face and brings them down carefully to his lap and just sort of… holds onto them, not really sure what he was actually going for. “Since when?” 

Louis shrugs like this is all common knowledge and Liam needs to catch up. “Since the first time I kissed you. At the house party.” 

Liam opens his mouth and then shuts it again. “Oh,” he breathes, and he can barely help the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You remember that?” 

Louis grins a little blindingly, and Liam’s heart jumps in his chest. “In, like, 3D Technicolor. Do you remember it?” 

It feels awfully warm in the room despite the lack of heating, or maybe it’s just that _Louis_ feels warm. Either way, Liam feels the need to shrug off his jacket and scarf before he maybe suffocates himself. So he does. Louis watches him carefully for a long moment. 

“Yeah, I remember. All of the time,” Liam tells him finally, not really thinking it through properly. He’d feel embarrassed about it but Louis looks like sunshine and has apparently been wanting to kiss him again for, well, just as long as Liam probably has, so all he can seem to do is stare helplessly. 

“Good,” Louis mumbles happily, and presses their foreheads together. “Remember this too, yeah?” 

Liam starts to nod but Louis’ already covering his mouth with his own and clenching his fingers again into Liam’s hair, tugging him closer. Liam makes sure to memorise the feel of Louis’ lips and tongue, the way his fingers are pressed hotly into Liam’s skin and holding on. He wants to remember this in more than just flashes. He wants this to maybe be the start of something and not just a blip. 

It’s a little bit frantic this time; Louis kisses him a lot like he’s never going to stop and Liam holds him tighter and kisses him back like he’s never going to _let_ him stop. It’s all demanding and hard and Louis’ mouth feels urgent. It feels like they’re both fighting for it. Liam doesn’t know why everything feels so desperate; maybe it’s because he’s tired and worked up with stress and stuff, or maybe just because… it’s Louis. God, he really wants Louis; he can feel it all twisting and knotting inside of him, all of the months building up since the party. 

He sinks his teeth into Louis’ bottom lip and worries if maybe he’s done it a bit too hard, but Louis just sort of whines low and slides his hands down from Liam’s hair palms-flat on his shoulders, and then he’s pushing Liam down hard. Liam flails a little bit, jerking back and somehow – horrifically – _bashes his fucking head_ uncomfortably against an antique fucking vase of some sort that had apparently been on the table next to the sofa. He panics and only just manages to catch it in his fingertips before it plummets and smashes on the floor. 

Thank bloody Christ for his reflexes. 

“Shit,” he exclaims, tearing his mouth from Louis’. 

Louis leans back in and laughs breathlessly against his lips, presses little smile-shaped kisses over his jaw—and honestly, Liam doesn’t think it’s at all funny, they’re going to break absolutely _everything_ at this rate. He’s far too poor to pay for all of that damage. He works in Starbucks. 

He lets Louis kiss him properly again though – just for a moment – and then manages to get his free hand in-between them and up to Louis’ shoulder so he can push him back far enough to figure out what to do with the vase he’s still awkwardly holding. 

Louis’ breathing heavy; Liam thinks he might be too, if the way his lungs sort of hurt is anything to go by. “Where do I…?” he asks helplessly. 

Louis laughs again and fumbles to take the vase from Liam’s hand, stretching over him on the sofa to place it back gracelessly on whatever it had previously been resting on—the table, Liam thinks. Once he lets it go, his hand falls to Liam’s waist, fingers teasing under the hem of his jumper and he pushes their hips together. 

Liam sucks in a breath, his heart’s still racing because of the vase. Louis has his other hand in Liam’s hair and his lips are a breath or two from his; he rocks his hips down and okay, Liam’s pretty sure his heart isn’t racing because of the vase anymore. He almost forgets where they are for a second and lets himself imagine pushing Louis down onto his bed and— 

Louis glances at Liam’s lips and lets out a breathy, “I really love kissing you,” pushing his hips down again. “Really love your mouth.” 

Liam tries to say something like, “Kiss me, then,” but it comes out a bit jumbled. Louis seems to get the idea anyway and kisses him again, messy. Liam digs his fingers into Louis’ waist and then somehow Louis has a hand between them, fumbling at Liam’s jeans. 

“Shit,” Liam says, breath coming out hard and jagged, and then slightly louder and maybe a bit alarmed: “Wait—Louis. I really… don’t think we should do this on the _expensive antique sofa_.” 

Louis giggles a little bit against his lips and just shushes him with a brief kiss. He trails his lips and tongue over Liam’s cheek to his ear, and then murmurs low: “Hmm, don’t worry, ‘m gonna make you come down my throat.” 

Liam sort of feels like all of the air has been snatched from his lungs. “Fuck. Okay,” he manages. 

He slides his hand into Louis’ hair and lets his head fall back – carefully this time, in case there are anymore _rogue vases_ about – while Louis gets his jeans unfastened and pushes them down to wrap his fingers around his dick. Liam groans into his mouth a little bit, pushing his hips up—fuck, he’s pretty sure not half-an-hour ago he and Louis were debating on candles sets, and now Louis has his dick in his hand and… honestly, Liam’s not a bloody clue how they ended up here. It's like he blinked and missed the transition somehow. This sort of thing doesn't usually happen to him. 

But he doesn’t exactly care, either; he rocks his hips up and gets a hand between them to tug on Louis’ jeans—can see the hard line of his cock. Louis meets his eyes – pupils all big – and seems to get what Liam’s trying to do, because he grins and then fumbles with his own jeans and surges down, sucking Liam into a slow kiss that has Liam clinging onto his shoulders. 

“I wanna touch you everywhere, Liam Payne,” Louis breathes against him. And then he’s sliding their dicks together and getting a hand around them both, and oh _God._

“God, _Louis_ ,” Liam whines. 

Louis presses a kiss to his lips with a grin, pulling at their dicks in a sort of half-arsed rhythm. Liam kisses him back, chasing his tongue. But then Louis’ gone, disappearing to the bottom of the sofa with his mouth hovering over Liam’s dick. _Jesus Christ._

He watches hazily as Louis takes his cock in his mouth, sliding his lips over and pumping his fist at the base. Liam groans, and then he can’t look anymore and covers his eyes with his arm. Louis Tomlinson, who he absolutely, definitely does have a crush on – you win, Niall – has his _mouth_ around his _cock_. 

Louis’ mouth is wet and hot and incredible and Liam can’t breathe. His breathing is shallow and jittery, and Louis is doing some wicked things with his tongue and, _fuck_. Alright. Liam slides his fingers into Louis’ hair and rocks his hips up a bit more, fucking his mouth a little. Louis hums against him and trails his fingers over his balls, and then Liam’s coming – it takes him by surprise a bit – spilling down Liam’s throat and panting hard. 

Shit. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” Louis says, and Liam makes a bit of an embarrassing noise. He has to look down, then; he has to watch the way Louis stares up at him and licks his come off his lip. He wants to take a fucking photo and maybe frame it. 

Louis slides back up him and kisses him, flushed and hot, and ruts into Liam’s thigh hard, his cock leaking and pressing into Liam’s skin. Liam grins and clumsily shuffles about to flip them over so he can get Louis beneath him and a hand around his dick. 

“Liam,” Louis whimpers a little when Liam pumps him slow—he wants to drag it out of him. 

He leans down and presses his teeth into Louis’ shoulder and mouths along and sucks at his neck, pulling on his cock hard and deliberate—languid. Slow. Louis’ shaking a little bit now and bucking his hips up desperately and Liam just wants to watch him fall apart. 

He sucks a finger into his mouth, getting it slick a wet and then snakes it between them and presses his fingertip to Louis’ hole. Louis’ entire body jerks and he swears and says, “Please.” 

Liam tugs on his cock a little faster – just – and he pushes his finger inside of him a crooks it a little bit, and Louis squeezes his eyes shut and comes all over Liam’s hand, and a little bit on his Darth Vader jumper. Liam giggles a little. 

He breathes hard underneath Liam for a moment and then wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him into a bruising kiss. Liam licks and sucks at his tongue; they kiss like that – drawn out and lazy – for a long while until Liam pulls away and carefully settles into Louis’ side. 

“We totally just had sex on like, a hundred year old sofa,” Louis says after a moment, bursting out a giggle. 

Liam covers his face with his arm. “Oh God,” he wails. He really hopes it’s not stained or anything, that would be horrible. Also a bit mortifying to explain to Louis’ mum. 

Louis keeps laughing, and then presses little kisses against Liam’s shoulder. “We’re fucking brilliant, Liam Payne.” 

And alright, _maybe_ Liam agrees. 

~*~ 

At some point that Liam’s honestly not quite sure of they must have fallen asleep, because when he blinks opens his eyes they sting a bit in the light. Light. _The lights are back on_. He sits upright, nudging at Louis. “Lou. Louis, I think we have electricity!” 

Louis groans at the disturbance, then seems to hear back Liam’s words. “Does that mean we can have tea?” 

Liam giggles. “Yeah.” 

Louis makes them tea while half-dressed and they sit on the sofa and inhale the steam, cupping their hands around the warmth while the electric heater warms up. It’s mostly stopped snowing outside, and Liam figures if it stays stopped, in a couple of hours they’ll probably be able to fight their way to their respective homes in time for Christmas—which is just as well, as Liam’s pretty sure his mum would hang, draw and quarter him if he wasn’t home in time for Christmas morning. 

They’re sitting in comfortable silence, dunking chocolate digestives in their tea when Louis asks, “I can see you again, yeah?” 

Liam looks up at him; he looks a bit apprehensive and unsure. Which is bloody _ridiculous_. Like Liam's going to tell him no. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “whenever. All the time.” 

Louis laughs. “Zayn and Niall’s New Year Party?” 

Liam nods, he’d probably have went anyway, but now—“ _Definitely_ ,” he says, and Louis smiles and nudges their knees together. 

They finally manage to get out of the shop at something like midnight. The snow is still quite deep and Liam still doesn’t have the right bloody shoes, but he manages to make it back home without dying of frost bite - it's a close call - and just in time to sing Christmas songs with his incredibly drunk sister. Poor Ruth is sober as a judge; being pregnant must be absolutely terrible. 

Liam opens a beer and tries to join in with the festivities, but he's too knackered to get into the spirit. Also, he can’t stop thinking about Louis for longer than five minutes or so. He convinces himself he's maybe just made it all up in his head - blame the sleep deprivation - but—but he can still feel Louis’ hands on him. He doesn’t stop thinking about him all night. 

Or all of Christmas Day either. 

~*~ 

Liam’s just getting nice and comfortable on the sofa with a beer and _The Dark Knight Rises_ when there’s a knock at his door. He lets out an exasperated sigh and pauses the DVD resentfully. It's 10pm on bloody Christmas Day. Or night now – he supposes – but his point still stands. 

He’s possibly about to pass out, this might be the first time in maybe forty years he’s got to just sit down with no obligations or anything. Christmas at his mum’s had been lovely and all; it always is. Nicola even liked the present Liam had bought her, which he’s sure must be some sort of miracle—or maybe Louis' just made of magic. Because that _never_ happens. 

But anyway, it was all a bit chaotic, though—the rush of family in and out, the finding extra chairs so everyone could sit around the table. Liam had been stuck on a stool from the breakfast bar, towering above the table like some sort of overlord and hunched uncomfortably over his food. By the time the _Doctor Who Christmas Special_ had started – which is the whole entire _reason_ for Christmas, really – Liam couldn’t stop his eyes from drooping shut. He woke up sometime later and only managed to catch the last five minutes or so. What a waste of Christmas. 

He could really do with whoever’s knocking at the door _sodding off_ honestly, he needs to sleep for about fifty or so hours probably. He really hopes it’s not the Mormons from down the street; they’ve been doing the rounds again recently, like everyone’s going to rather suddenly do a complete 180° and change their minds, decide that, actually, they do want to be Mormons after all. 

They’re perfectly lovely folk, really – nice neighbours, they sent Liam a Christmas card and they always say good morning – but Liam doesn’t particularly want to be a Mormon today. 

There’s another knock, louder this time, and Liam calls out a defeated: “Alright, alright, I’m coming.” 

It’s definitely the Mormons, he’s not really sure who else would be knocking at his door at 10pm on Christmas Day night. Which is a bit terrible—he probably should get better friends. Or just be more social. But he can feel all of those extra shifts at work taking their toll on him now a bit; he’s too bone-deep shattered to bloody _socialise_. 

He huffs, puts his beer down and drags his feet in a tired sort of annoyance into the hall to swing the door open and tell the Mormons: “Merry Christmas, thanks for the card, but I don’t want to pledge my body and soul to God today, thank you.” He's too nice sometimes. 

Except when he opens the door it’s definitely not the Mormons who are standing on the other side. Unless Louis Tomlinson happens to be a Mormon; Liam’s not sure he can see that one, but he figures stranger things have probably happened in his life. 

Louis shakes flakes of snow out of his hair with a grin, and says brightly: “Merry Christmas, Liam Payne.” 

Liam stares at Louis’ snow-damp hair falling over his eyes and blinks. “Merry Christmas…” he replies. It sounds slightly like a question—it sort of is. 

Before Liam can ask him why he’s here, and also:  _how on Earth do you know where I live?_ because he definitely doesn’t remember giving Louis his address last night, Louis crosses the threshold into Liam’s flat. He presses his winter-frosty fingers against Liam’s cheeks and pulls him into a quite thorough kiss. Liam shivers a little bit. 

Louis’ probably not one of the Mormons, he thinks helplessly. Unless they're using an entirely new tactic to convince people to convert. If that's the case, it's probably working. 

Liam stops thinking about the Mormons then, because he can't very well be thinking about the Mormons when Louis’ pushing his tongue into his mouth. Instead, Liam closes his eyes and sort of… goes with it, mostly because: a) he really quite likes kissing Louis, and b)… actually, there probably isn’t a b), he just really likes kissing Louis. He moves his hands from where they were hanging a bit helplessly by his sides and manages to get a hold on Louis’ hips, stumbling backwards a bit to pull him properly into the flat so he can at least kick the door shut. You never know when the Mormons will show up to welcome you into God’s heart. 

Louis pulls away then though, leaning against the back of the flat door and breathing heavy. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

Liam smiles, a little bit confused and also trying hard to catch his own breath. “Hi.” 

“So I decided I couldn’t wait until New Year to see you again,” Louis tells him matter-of-factly, bright eyes never leaving Liam’s face. He looks beautiful and Liam is quite unapologetically _staring_ —his hair is damp from the snow and his cheeks are flushed and pink, and he’s wearing a woolly scarf that’s so big it’s sort of drowning him a bit. 

“New Year is, like, five days away. Which is… a whole one hundred and twenty hours,” Louis continues seriously. 

Liam laughs, small. “That’s a bit long.” 

“Too long,” Louis tells him. He gets a hold on Liam’s shirt and pulls him down into another kiss, clumsily fitting their lips together. Liam goes easily; he curls his fingers into Louis' hips again and kisses him back slow and hot. God, he really does love kissing Louis Tomlinson. He could maybe do it forever, but— 

“Hang on,” Liam says after a beat, remembering himself. He puts a little bit of space between them so he can do slightly important things like breathe and also _get it the fuck together_ and give Louis a stern look. “How did you know where I _live_?” 

Louis drops his eyes down in what Liam thinks might be actual mortification, but he’s still smiling despite it. Liam can see his eyes crinkling at the sides, and he inexplicably wants to, like, kiss the corners of Louis’ eyes, and maybe even his  _eyelids_. Which he’s quite sure is something he has definitely not wanted to do to anyone before. 

Louis Tomlinson's making him a little bit doolally. 

Louis bites his lip a little and Liam tries not to lean forward and do it for him. “I paid Zayn twenty quid for your address,” he admits sheepishly; he doesn’t meet Liam’s eyes, opting instead to shrug off his jacket and scarf. So he's staying then, Liam thinks. Suddenly he doesn't feel so tired. 

Liam just laughs, properly laughs; he lets out a string of giggles and says: “Wow, thanks, Tommo.” 

Louis opens his mouth as if to reply – maybe defend himself, even – but Liam pushes back into his space and crowds him up against the flat door so there’s no space between them. Louis drops his jacket and scarf to the floor and just stares, bright eyes shining. Liam moves as if to kiss him again but stops just short, taking in the way Louis' eyes slide shut and his eyelashes flutter in anticipation. 

Liam just smiles and stares for a little while longer – God, Louis is beautiful and this is so _happening_ – and Louis opens his eyes again after a moment, looking just a bit nonplussed. 

“Good to know I’m worth something, I suppose,” Liam mumbles eventually, all mock-offended. 

He wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrists and presses them against the door. Louis really looks like he wants to punch Liam in the face and kiss him all at once—it’s slightly incredible. 

Eventually, Louis huffs and rolls his eyes theatrically. “I would have paid a lot more if he asked,” he says. "You're a bit priceless." 

Liam laughs fondly, and then he does kiss him, slick and messy and _happy_. Louis kisses him back with a smile on his lips and then somehow it all gets a little bit desperate: Louis fumbling his fingers through Liam’s hair and pulling and Liam curling his hands around Louis’ waist to tug him closer and knock their hips together. 

Liam feels dizzy with it all, in a kind of wonderful way—Louis is _here_ , in his _flat_ , on _Christmas_. And he’s _kissing him_. Again. Like they're definitely going to make a habit of it. Liam makes a note somewhere in the back of his mind to text Niall in the morning and thank him for threatening him into Louis’ shop. He might even buy him flowers and a crate of beer. 

Louis nips at Liam’s lip a little with his teeth and Liam stops thinking about Niall and lets out a bit of a strangled sound. He can feel Louis smiling smugly under his lips, so he breaks off—he kisses along Louis’ jaw, slow and wet, down his neck and over his collarbone. 

Louis shivers. “Liam,” he mumbles breathily. 

Liam loves the way Louis says his name; he sucks in a breath and keeps going, stretching down the collar of Louis’ jumper so he can kiss and lick along his shoulder. Louis’ hand tightens in his hair, and he’s babbling something about how they “really should have been doing this for ages, why the bloody hell weren’t we?” Liam just giggles against Louis’ skin and then he surges up to find his mouth again, hot and wet. 

Louis groans into it, and he somehow manages to pull a hand down and press it into Liam’s arse to pull him hard against him. Liam whines low and breaks the kiss, just breathing into Louis’ mouth for a moment and rocking their hips together a bit awkwardly—they need to find a fucking surface, he thinks. 

Louis presses a quick kiss against Liam’s lips, one hand still pulling through his hair, and then says breathily: “I want you to fuck me.” 

God, fuck. Liam wants that on repeat forever. “Yeah,” he mumbles, “god, yeah. Uh—bedroom.” 

He lets his hold on Louis go and finds his hand, sliding their fingers together to pull him towards his room. He can hear _The Dark Knight_ still playing on the telly but honestly, saving electricity isn’t really at the top of his list right now so he just lets it play and stumbles them through his bedroom door. Louis doesn’t let his hand go; he spins around and grabs Liam by the neck and pulls him down into a hot kiss, still squeezing his hand. 

Liam takes the opportunity to get his hands underneath Louis’ jumper and ruck it up a bit, run his palms over Louis’ chest and press his fingers into his soft skin. Louis’ breath hitches a little and he babbles against Liam’s lips: “Been thinking about you all day, fuck. About your hands, your _mouth_. About you fucking me.” 

Louis shouldn’t be allowed to speak, Liam thinks. _Christ_. He groans and pushes Louis back a touch so he can pull Louis’ jumper over his head, and then his own. Louis gets his hands on him then and Liam can feel his skin fluttering underneath his touch. 

Liam kisses him again, briefly. “What else. God, Louis, what else were you thinking about?” 

Louis grins – a bit fucking pleased with himself – because he’s a total arsehole. Liam hates him. He presses his lips to Liam’s neck, kissing down and over his collarbones and getting his tongue on one of his nipples. Liam fumbles his hands back a little to press them against the wall, needing some leverage. 

“Thinking about getting my mouth on your cock again, ‘bout how you tasted,” Louis mumbles in-between pressing kisses down his chest, over his waist and to his hips. 

“Louis,” Liam manages—sort of. He thinks it mostly comes out as nonsense but he doesn’t care. Fuck, he really doesn’t care. He just wants Louis to touch him. Wants Louis to—just _wants Louis_. 

Louis thankfully doesn’t waste much time though, curling his fingers into the waistband of Liam’s joggers and tugging them down with his pants. Liam stares hazily – he’s so hard he’s quite surprised he can even form a thought – and god Louis looks _so good_ down there. Louis presses a kiss to his cock and Liam jerks his hips forward; he wants everything all at once. 

Louis mumbles something about how much he loves Liam’s cock, or maybe something about how much he loves rocks, who even knows. Liam’s struggling to hear anything above his own heartbeat. He stops caring about what on Earth Louis’ saying, anyway; Louis slowly – unbearably slowly – runs his tongue up the length of Liam’s cock and then slides his mouth over it, sucking down and curling his fist around the rest 

Liam lets out a string of curses, and he can’t look at him; he can’t look at the way Louis’ lips wrap around him, or the way he looks up through his ridiculous eyelashes. He can’t do anything but close his eyes and dig his fingers into the wall and rock his hips, fuck into Louis’ mouth. 

Louis’ making all sorts of horribly obscene noises, as if he’s the one getting his dick sucked. “Louis,” Liam warns, twisting his fingers into Louis’ hair. He’s getting close, can feel the heat pooling and god, he doesn’t want to come yet. 

Louis hums and Liam shivers a little; he tugs on Louis’ hair and Louis goes easily, pulling off Liam’s cock and climbing back up his body. Liam grabs his face in his hands and slides their lips together, and Louis opens his mouth to him, kissing Liam’s taste into his mouth. 

Liam feels a lot dizzy and also a lot like he needs to get Louis on his bed right bloody now. He slides his hands over Louis’ shoulders and shoves him backwards, kicking off his joggers the rest of the way and walking them the few paces to Liam’s bed. He pushes Louis down into it a bit clumsily and Louis laughs – breathless and wonderful - and his eyes do the crinkling thing they do at the sides and—Liam needs to kiss him. He pushes down at the same time Louis pushes up and they kiss hard and urgent for a moment before Liam tugs on the waist on Louis’ jeans and mumbles slightly more demanding than he really means to: “Off. Off, off. _Off_.” 

Louis huffs out another laugh. “Bossy,” he tells him, but he does as Liam asks and peels his jeans off. Liam stares for a moment, eyes falling over Louis’ cock, hard and wanting against his stomach. Louis raises his eyebrows at him with a self-satisfied grin, and Liam thinks: _oh, right_ , and fumbles to the bedside table to rummage through the little drawer for the condoms and lube. 

He stops for a moment and then tosses the lube over to Louis and tells him, voice a bit shaky: “You start.” 

Liam doesn’t think he’s ever been this demanding before, and it’s sort of weird. He doesn’t know what on Earth Louis’ _doing_ to him. 

“Fuck, you’re impossible,” Louis groans. He coats his fingers with the lube and lies back against Liam’s cushions – Liam can’t help but think how incredible Louis looks in his bed, fuck – and lets his legs fall apart. Liam sits on the end of the bed and stares, hardly daring to breathe. Louis looks him in the eye as he reaches down and presses the tips of his fingers over his hole. He teases them there for a moment and then slips a finger inside, letting out little breathy sounds that Liam wants to swallow and keep inside of him forever. 

Liam lets his fingers wrap around his dick and pump at it slowly, watching hard as Louis keeps sliding his finger in, and then another. 

“Fuck, Liam,” Louis says, voice strained, “you look beautiful.” 

Liam ducks his head a little, suddenly a bit embarrassed. People have called him beautiful before, but never Louis. And never like... _that_. 

“Come here,” Louis pleads, fingers still working into himself. 

Liam has to catch his breath; he lets go of his dick, tears open the condom and rolls it on quickly, trying not to take his eyes off the way Louis is writhing on his bed and mumbling Liam’s name. Fuck. 

He crawls over Louis slowly and presses a kiss to his shoulder, to his neck, and then swallows all of Louis’ little noises and slides his tongue over his lips. Louis whines into his mouth and spreads his legs further to let Liam in, grabbing at one of Liam’s hands and guiding it down. Liam gets it; he slides his hand over Louis’ arse and pushes a finger into the slick heat with Louis’. Louis’ hips jerk against him and he swears into Liam’s mouth. 

“Need you to fuck me now,” he breathes, and yes, fuck. Liam can do that. He’s so hard at this point he might be seeing fucking stars. Or something. Maybe it's the mixture of being incredibly turned on and running on barely any sleep; maybe he's just going completely loopy. 

He reaches for the lube and squeezes a little on his hand and slicks it over his cock. Louis’ watching him with impossibly huge eyes, and his hair is sort of sticking to his forehead, and. He’s absolutely the most beautiful thing Liam has _ever_ seen, and Liam met _Rihanna_ once. 

He thinks about telling Louis that he’s way more beautiful than Rihanna but figures it might sound really fucking weird without the context, so instead he says: “You look beautiful, too,” and just crawls back over Louis and pushes his legs up. 

Louis lifts his hips up a little, eyes willing Liam to hurry up, so Liam does; he lines himself up and then sinks into him slowly. When he bottoms out he hears Louis suck in a breath before he reaches up to pull Liam down. “Please fucking move,” he whines low, and kisses him gently, sort of just mouthing at his lips. 

Louis reacts to every little movement, every shift in Liam’s hips; he pushes himself up into it and breathes out Liam’s name like it’s the only word he can remember how to say anymore. Shit, Liam’s really not going to last long; he snaps his hips harder and sort of doesn’t care because Louis looks about the same way and he can feel him shaking beneath him. Liam kisses him properly, moaning words of encouragement into his mouth while he fucks him deeper. Louis’ digging his fingers into Liam’s back and licking messily at his lips, and Liam can tell that he’s losing it, that he’s— 

“Liam—fuck, Liam, I’m—” he gasps, hips jerking a bit erratically. 

Liam presses their foreheads together, all sticky with sweat. He gets a hand around Louis’ dick and strokes him fast, still fucking into him. “Want you to come for me,” he whispers between them, and it only takes a few moments until Louis does, shooting all over his stomach and Liam’s hand. 

It’s maybe Liam’s single bloody favourite moment of his life so far; Louis’ shaking beneath him and mumbling out words that sound like, “Fuck,” and “Liam,” and, “So fucking hot,” and Liam can feel the edge of his orgasm, his hips losing control slightly. Louis tangles his fingers into Liam’s hair and pulls – and fuck—Liam loves that – and Liam fucks into him once, twice and then comes hard with Louis’ name on his tongue. He shakes through it, gasping a little bit desperately; Louis gently cards his hand through Liam’s hair and lets Liam fall against his chest. 

They stay there for a moment, breathing heavy and holding on. Louis drags his fingers down Liam’s back and Liam hears him say quietly: “Merry fucking Christmas,” and he laughs hard, pressing his lips to Louis’ collarbone. 

He summons up some sort of half-arsed strength and manages to roll off Louis and get rid of the condom. He crawls back onto the bed beside him, pulling at his faux-mink blanket to cover their feet – it’s _chilly_ – and then tilts Louis’ head toward him so he can kiss him, soft and slow. “Merry fucking Christmas to you too,” he says. 

Louis grins, face all lit up like the sun. “So that happened.” 

“Yeah,” Liam says with a smile, wrapping his arm around Louis to pull him closer and burying his face in his neck. “That definitely happened.” 

“You’re sort of fucking incredible, Liam Payne,” says Louis. 

Liam looks up at him and laughs, rolling his eyes a bit. “So are you,” he says, “and so is Niall, do you think we should buy him a thank you gift?” 

Louis frowns, looking completely confused. “What on Earth are you bloody talking about?” 

“Niall,” Liam mumbles sleepily—Jesus, he'd forgotten how tired he is. “He’s the one who convinced me to go to your shop yesterday.” 

“Little Nialler, eh?” Louis says. “Well, fuck then, suppose we should buy him a bloody beer holiday or something for that.” 

Liam just laughs and kisses Louis shoulder, closing his eyes. He can’t _wait_ for New Year.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> quick note: i based the idea of louis' shop on a similar sort of bazaar shop in my hometown, which if you're interested, looks like [this](http://i.imgur.com/srPUKHm.jpg) and [this](http://i.imgur.com/cfgKyhc.jpg) literally everywhere. you can hardly move. it's fabulous! also a bit hazardous, but mostly fabulous! you can spend hours in there and still not have seen everything.


End file.
